


At least, stay sharp

by WereRabbit



Category: Guild Wars (Video Game), Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Guild Wars Series (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, charr - Freeform, gw2, gw2 black citadel, gw2 charr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WereRabbit/pseuds/WereRabbit
Summary: Growing up in the fahrar is never easy for anyone - some just take it harder than others.





	At least, stay sharp

**Author's Note:**

> featuring [W.C. Pemm's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pemm/profile) character Lyre Lifespring, who grew up in the Fahrar with Lyza.

“You know, you’re never going to get into a warband acting like that, Lyre.” 

Lyre didn’t need Lyza to tell her - she had already resigned to her fate, knees curled up as she tried to hide her black eye and cut cheek. 

“You need to stop making yourself such a target,” she continued. “This is the third time this week.” Lyza never felt quite right about lecturing Lyre - the charr was a year older than her, held back a year in the fahrar, and had a reputation for constantly failing assignments and sparring matches. She was less than favorable, to say the least, but she deserved some respect, Lyza thought. It wasn’t exactly easy going through the fahrar with a shaman’s target on your back, let alone be the runt.

From across the sparring grounds, the trio who had instigated the fight were still boasting, drawing in a small crowd as they gossiped. _“She wants to be Ash Legion”_ , Lyza could hear them say. _“What a joke! Have you seen her? She tried sneaking and one of the **dummies** took her out, it was pathetic!_ ”

Lyre could hear them too, apparently. And try as she might to stare a hole into the dirt in front of her, her eyes kept flicking over to the small crowd, and with each glance her knees drew closer to her face. She was bigger than Lyza, usually, but now she was small, her short mohawk disheveled and her horns looking dull and worn, dented and scratched by the claws of the other cubs.

Cubs who were still laughing and jeering and looking so pleased with themselves. 

“Hey, Lyre,” Lyza said, and from the pocket of her jerkin she pulled out a small, flat whetstone. “Let me see your horns.”

“Lyza, would you just--”

“Just let me see your horns, okay?” Lyre opened her mouth to retort, but Lyza had grabbed the curved, dull bulls horn and gently yanked her head forward.

“What the hell! Let go of me!” She snarled, her voice wavering from hurt and surprise. With the whetstone in one paw, she began to scrape it against her horns, sanding down the rough surface and shaping the tip into a sharp point. “Lyza!” Lyre’s voice rose, but she didn’t have the will to push her back. “What are you _doing!?_ ”

Lyza blew the powder of the sanded horn off her, rubbing the tip to a polish and tapping her finger against the honed point. “Next time they come, show them these. Charge them. At least you can stay sharp.” The charr looked at her with confusion, as if she wanted to fight, but she stopped herself. Silently, Lyre took a breath and sat down, spine straight, and tilted her horns toward Lyza as she shaved and whittled them into something resembling respect.


End file.
